YUCK!
Kwon Jiyong x Reader | Infinity Crew Masterlist
a/n: hi babies! Thank you all for being patient while I wasn't feeling well. I wrote this up last week and just got back to editing it today and I thought I'd post it while I work on the next part of Cross My Heart! Idk how much a love this but hopefully you guys enjoy! Part of the Infinity Crew series.
synopsis: In which Y/n and Jiyong first meet and she is scared of her feelings for him. Inspired by the song Yuck by Charli XCX.
warnings: alcohol, language, Y/n being a little angsty, Jiyong being fluffy, brief mention of grandmothers death
wc: 3.8k+
Your eyelids felt heavy as they fluttered open, sunlight piercing through the half-closed blinds, painting streaks of gold across the rumpled sheets. A dull, pounding ache bloomed behind your temples, making you wince as you let out a groan. The stale scent of alcohol and sweat clung to the air, remnants of last night’s chaos.
It took a moment for your vision to adjust, for your mind to piece together the fragmented blur of the night before. Your room looked like a crime scene—discarded clothes draped over furniture, empty shot glasses and half-drunk bottles littering the floor. A purse, whose owner you weren’t even sure of, had spilled its contents across your dresser.
Beside you, Jaki stirred, her messy hair sticking out at odd angles as she let out a sleepy grunt. On the floor, Bella was sprawled out on a pile of blankets, still snoring, her arm draped over a crushed bag of chips. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, retching sounds echoed from behind your bathroom door. Mari.
Jaki rubbed her eyes, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
You reached for your phone, fingers fumbling over the nightstand. Miraculously, it was on the charger. At least drunk you had been responsible enough to remember that.
“10:30,” you croaked before groaning again, the reality of morning-after regret sinking in.
Jaki sighed, pushing herself upright. “God, what did we do last night?” She dragged herself out of bed, stepping over empty cans and rogue heels before nudging Bella with her foot. “Wake up.”
Bella grunted in protest, hugging the chip bag closer.
Still half-asleep, you tapped at your phone, squinting at the bright screen. As you scrolled through the mess of notifications, one stood out—an unfamiliar number. Your thumb hovered before clicking it open.
Hey! I had a lot of fun last night. Hope you all made it home in one piece! - Jiyong
Your brows furrowed. Jiyong? A flicker of recognition tugged at your memory, but nothing solid formed. “Hey, do you guys remember a Jiyong from last night?”
Bella’s groggy voice perked up immediately. “How do you not? You had your tongue down his throat the entire night.”
A jolt of recollection shot through you like static. Sudden, disjointed flashes of neon lights, pulsing music, and warm hands on your waist hit you all at once. The shots of tequila. The VIP section. The group of boys whose presence commanded attention. And him.
Brightly colored hair. A dangerous smile. The taste of liquor on his lips as you lost yourself in him.
“Shit.”
Mari, looking half-dead as she stumbled out of the bathroom, flopped onto the floor beside Bella. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, pulling a blanket over herself.
“You don’t remember?” Bella smirked. “He was hot.”
“And really nice!” Mari added.
You blinked. “He was?”
Your luck with men had always been questionable at best. Back home, you had a tendency to fall for the ones who didn’t give a damn about you. Moving to Korea had been different—men here were blunt, sometimes brutally so, which at least cut through the bullshit. You had stopped looking for anything real a long time ago, opting instead for fun, no strings attached. And it had been working for you.
“Yeah!” Mari stretched with a yawn. “Honestly, they all were. They bought us drinks, let us sit at their table, and even made sure we got home safe. Kind of rare these days.” Her head tilted. “Did he text you?”
You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”
Jaki, suddenly much more awake, clapped her hands together. “Text him back!”
You sighed, biting your lip. So what if you made out with a hot guy last night? That didn’t mean anything would come of it.
“He’s in a baaanddd,” Bella teased, dragging out the words.
You rolled your eyes. “A band?” You knew the type.
“Oh yeah!” Mari snapped her fingers, trying to recall. “Bang something…”
A laugh bubbled up in your chest as you shook your head. Still, curiosity got the better of you, and you tapped out a response.
Hey! Thanks for the drinks and making sure we got home safe. It was fun!
A second later, your phone vibrated again.
You busy tonight? We have a show at the Jamsil. It’s our last show of the tour.
Your heart stuttered. The Jamsil? That place was massive. Stadium-level massive. In fact, it was a stadium. The kind of venue that only serious artists played.
You sat up straighter. “Guys…”
“What?” they all asked in unison.
“I think he wants us to go to their concert tonight.”
Bella groaned, rubbing her temples. “Ugh, I need a hangover cure first. But what bar are they playing at?”
“Not a bar…” You swallowed.
Jaki, raising a brow, asked, “Then where?”
You licked your lips, staring at the message as if it might change. “Jamsil Stadium.”
Silence. Then—
“Wait, what?!” Mari bolted upright. “Are they like…opening for someone?”
Your friends quickly scrambled for their phones to look up who would be playing at the stadium that night.
“Big Bang?” Mari questioned, glancing at the others. None of you had heard of them.
Your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before typing out a new message.
Oh haha, what was the name of your band again?
His response came almost instantly.
Lol, BIGBANG
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
The teasing was relentless.
Over the next week, your best friends took every opportunity to poke fun at the way you grinned at your phone, the way your fingers hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary, the way your cheeks flushed every time Jiyong’s name lit up your notifications.
It didn’t help that the memories of that night lingered in your mind like an intoxicating haze—BIGBANG’s concert, the electricity in the air, the way the entire stadium pulsed with their music. You and your friends had been given VIP treatment, watching from backstage before being pulled to the afterparty like you belonged there.
And Jiyong…
Jiyong had barely let you out of his sight.
His hand had found your hip early in the night and never strayed far, his grip possessive but never suffocating, a quiet declaration to everyone in the room. His voice had been a constant in your ear, warm and teasing, sending shivers down your spine every time he leaned in close. The buzz in your veins hadn’t just been from alcohol this time—it had been him.
You had been sober enough to feel every nerve in your body react to his touch, every stolen glance sending a thrill through your chest. And despite the slight nerves that danced in your stomach, you hadn’t pulled away. Because you liked it. You liked the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, the way he tilted your chin toward him with a lazy smirk, like he had every right to.
And then there were the texts.
Jiyong wasn’t like the men you were used to—he didn’t play games, didn’t make you wait, didn’t let hours or days pass before acknowledging you.
With him, there was no guessing, no second-guessing.
You weren’t sure if you liked it.
Or maybe… that was just the wall you had spent years building, screaming at you to run.
And yet, here you were, sitting at brunch with your best friends, stomach twisting as your phone buzzed for the tenth time that morning.
“Is that him again?” Jaki teased, sipping her mimosa with a knowing smirk.
“Oh my god, he’s obsessed with you,” Mari grinned, leaning in with wide eyes.
Bella, ever the devil’s advocate, leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “Ignore him. Make him work for it.”
You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You guys are unbearable.”
But even as you protested, you lifted your phone, heart skipping when you saw his message.
May I take you out tonight?
Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, your teeth sank into your bottom lip.
“Oh my god, she’s in looooove,” Mari sang, drawing out the words dramatically.
You scoffed, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. Quickly, you schooled your expression, flipping your phone facedown on the table. “No, I’m not.”
Jaki, unimpressed, rolled her eyes. “Don’t let these idiots scare you out of something good.” She reached across the table, squeezing your hand.
“We weren’t trying to be mean!” Mari pouted, leaning in closer. “I think you should keep talking to him!”
“I was being mean,” Bella admitted, giggling—only to yelp as Jaki kicked her under the table. “Ow! Bitch!”
You sighed, shaking your head at their antics, but the truth sat heavy on your chest. “It’s not that serious.”
Jaki snorted. “Please. He was all over you at the afterparty. He texts you nonstop. Y/n, stop being a coward and go out with the man.”
Before you could protest, the sound of your doorbell interrupted.
Your brows knit together. No one was supposed to be coming over, and you and the girls had barely rolled out of bed for brunch.
Grabbing your phone, you opened your Ring app—and blinked.
There was no one there.
Just a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep.
“What the hell…” you muttered, rising to your feet.
Mari, ever the nosy one, was already on your heels as you opened the door. The moment she spotted the flowers, she let out a shriek.
“Oh my god!!!”
Before you could even react, she snatched up the bouquet and bolted back inside.
“Look what Jiyong sent her!!!” she screeched, parading the flowers like a trophy.
“Mari, stop!” you groaned, chasing after her. “You don’t even know if they’re from him!”
Jaki was already on her feet, fingers sifting through the bouquet in search of a card. The moment she found it, her eyes gleamed with triumph.
Clearing her throat dramatically, she read aloud:
'Y/n, I wanted to thank you for coming to our final show. You made the night beautiful. You’re beautiful. xx, Jiyong.'
The room exploded.
Your friends screamed in unison while you dropped to the floor, face buried in your hands, utterly mortified.
“Oh my god, he LOVES you!” Mari gasped, bouncing on her heels.
“This is like a K-drama,” Bella wheezed.
Jaki clutched her chest. “I’m so happy for you.”
This was so weird.
Finally, when the chaos died down and your heartbeat returned to a semi-normal pace, you picked up your phone.
Your fingers hesitated before typing.
Why’d you send flowers? The girls are getting the wrong impression.
Like clockwork, he responded within seconds.
Wrong impression? I like you. That’s the impression I’m trying to make.
You stared at the screen, pulse hammering in your throat.
You wanted to fight it—wanted to roll your eyes, wanted to tell him to fuck off before he got too close, before you started to hope.
But the flutter in your stomach betrayed you.
And for once, you let it.
What time should I be ready?
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Dates with Jiyong became addicting in the worst possible way.
He was too much.
Too chivalrous. Too affectionate. Too willing to hold doors open, place a protective hand on the small of your back, press soft kisses to your forehead before pulling you in for something deeper, something dizzying.
Too fucking Kwon Jiyong.
It was infuriating.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the way he’d brush his fingers across your skin like he'd known you for a lifetime, the way his thumb would skim your bottom lip before capturing your mouth with his. It made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.
You weren’t supposed to like it this much. And yet, every time your phone lit up with his name, a warmth spread through your chest before you even had time to think.
You weren’t an idiot—you knew what this meant.
Actual feelings.
Yuck.
You sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, as the thought actually liking him played in loops inside your head. You hadn’t had real feelings for anyone in years. And yet, Kwon fucking Jiyong had waltzed into your life and made your heart flutter like some tragic romance cliché.
You refused to text your friends about it. You already knew what they’d say.
"Go for it!"
"He’s so into you!"
"Just let yourself be happy!"
No. Absolutely not.
So, instead, you did what you did best.
You drank.
It wasn’t self-destructive if you were just trying to clear your mind, right?
You set your phone on the charger, ignoring the missed texts from Jiyong, and padded into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of soju.
Shot after shot, you turned the music louder, drowning out the overthinking, the gnawing doubt, the lingering heat of Jiyong’s touch. You lost yourself in the beat, dancing around the empty house, laughing into the dimly lit living room.
And then—
It hit.
A wave of something dark, something hollow, something that made the room spin in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
Your laughter faded as you looked around, eyes scanning the walls, the furniture, the memories embedded in this house.
This was where you spent your childhood summers—where you and your cousins wrestled in the living room, where your grandmother sat by the window, humming old lullabies in Korean, always watching, always loving.
She had been your everything.
She had adored you, called you her “Shining Star.” When she passed, she left this house to you, trusting you with it, believing in you.
But tonight? You didn’t feel like a star.
You felt like a fraud. A drunk, struggling, social media star with no real direction, no solid ground beneath your feet.
Tears pricked at your eyes before you even realized it. You blinked them away, shaking your head. No. Not tonight.
You needed something real. Something solid.
Your hands fumbled for your phone, eyes blurring as you found Jiyong’s number and pressed the call button before you could second-guess it.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Jagi!" he cooed, his voice warm, affectionate.
You swallowed, forcing a smile into your tone. “Hey, Jiiii…”
There was a pause. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m great! Never better!”
He exhaled, a soft chuckle trailing through the receiver. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be calling me. I’m a lame old man, remember?”
You chewed your lip, thinking back to your last date—the one where he had tried to open up, where you had deflected every question, every attempt at something real.
Your chest ached.
Maybe… maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe liking him wasn't such a bad thing.
“Well… maybe you’re kinda cool?” you teased, voice slurring slightly.
You could almost hear his smirk.
Then, softly—“Ji… are you real?”
There was a pause, like he was trying to decipher the weight behind your words.
“Yeah, I’m real, baby,” he murmured, voice softer now. Waiting. Hoping, that you needed him.
Your head spun, emotions colliding with the alcohol in your system. “If you’re real… prove it.”
Silence.
Then, his voice came through the phone, calm, certain.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
The call ended before you could protest. You let out a breathless chuckle, throwing yourself onto the couch as the liquor coursed through your veins. The room tilted, the world blurring around the edges.
Then—
A sharp knock at the door.
You inhaled deeply, pushing yourself upright, swaying slightly as you found your footing. For a second, you hesitated—wondering if maybe you were hallucinating this entire thing.
But when you swung open the door, there he was.
Jiyong.
Bright hair catching the moonlight, dark eyes scanning you with equal parts amusement and concern.
“Ji!” you cooed, stumbling forward, arms flinging around him. Your cheek pressed against his chest, his warmth sinking into your skin, grounding you.
“You’re really real…” you sighed.
His arms wrapped around you, steady and strong. “Yeah, I’m real, Jagi.”
His voice was soft, patient. “How much have you had to drink?”
You hummed against him, pressing your nose into the fabric of his hoodie. “Mmm, dunno…”
He sighed, but you could feel his smile. He picked you up effortlessly, carrying you inside like you weighed nothing, setting you down gently on the couch.
“I’ll order some food, yeah?”
You blinked up at him, lips curling into a slow smirk. “I can be your food…” you muttered, attempting to be seductive. In reality, you probably just looked like a fish gasping for air.
Jiyong snorted, shaking his head as he helped you sit upright. “Jagi, as much as I’d love that… you’re drunk.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s get some food in you, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
He said it so easily, like he was sure he’d still be here. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.
Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being wanted without conditions.
It made you panic. It made you angry.
“Am I ugly or something?!” you snapped, frustration bubbling up inside you.
Jiyong stilled, studying you with something dangerously close to adoration.
Then, with a knowing sigh, he ran a hand through his hair.
Falling in love with you was going to be a problem.
But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Waking up in Jiyong’s arms wasn’t something you had planned, nor was it something you ever thought would feel this right.
His warmth surrounded you, his steady breaths fanning against the back of your neck, his arm draped effortlessly over your waist like he had every right to be there.
And God, it felt good.
Too good.
Your heartbeat picked up as reality settled in. How had this happened? Oh, right. You called him. You practically begged him to come over. You clung to him all night, let him be your anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t control. You let yourself feel safe.
And now? Now that it was morning, now that the haze of alcohol had lifted, it terrified you.
Jiyong shifted slightly, pressing himself closer, his grip tightening like he could sense the storm brewing inside you.
“I can feel you staring at me, Jagi.” His voice was husky, teasing, laced with that lazy morning rasp that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.
His eyes remained closed, but his lips curled into a knowing smile.
You tensed.
"What are you doing here?" you asked abruptly, jerking out of bed like you’d been caught in something you shouldn’t have been.
Jiyong's eyes finally fluttered open, watching you with quiet amusement as you stumbled to your feet, your breath unsteady.
“What am I doing here?” he echoed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “You called me, Y/n.”
His tone was calm, patient—too patient. Like he was already used to you pulling away, like he was waiting for it.
Your mind replayed every hazy memory from last night. The drunk dialing. The way you asked him to come over instead of your best friends. The way you curled into him as if he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.
And now you were running.
Panic gripped your chest.
“You’re acting like a sick puppy,” you snapped, voice sharp, laced with something almost desperate. “Following me around all the time!”
It was a low blow, and you knew it the moment the words left your lips. But Jiyong didn’t flinch.
Instead, a quiet sigh left him, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his gaze.
And then, he smirked. Like he had already expected this. Like he had already figured you out.
He pushed himself out of bed, the sheets slipping from his toned torso as he stood, stretching slightly before making his way toward you. His sweatpants sat low on his waist, and despite your panic, you stole a glance.
God, he was so unfairly hot.
But it wasn’t just that. It was him.
It was the way he carried himself, the way he knew exactly when to push and when to pull back, the way he had a goddamn patience for you that no one else had ever had.
He stopped a breath away from you, his gaze locking onto yours.
“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Tell me you never want to see me again.”
Your stomach twisted.
“W-What?”
His dark eyes burned into yours.
“Tell me you never want to see me again, and I’ll fuck off. I’ll never contact you again.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed thickly, but nothing came out. He wasn’t playing games. He was serious.
Your lips parted, but your voice failed you. Because the truth was, you didn’t want him to go.
You had spent so long building walls, running from anything that felt real, convincing yourself that love wasn’t for you.
And yet, here he was. Kwon Jiyong. Standing in front of you, offering you something real.
And you couldn’t tell him to leave.
His jaw tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for rejection. But then, with quiet resolve, he added—
"But I like you, Y/n. A lot.”
Your breath hitched.
His voice was steady, unwavering. “If you give me a chance, I want to show you just how much.”
Your heart stopped.
For a split second, you almost ran.
You almost threw up another wall, another excuse, another reason why he should stay far away from you.
But instead—
Your hands reached for his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into you, lips crashing together in a fiery, desperate kiss.
He didn’t hesitate.
Jiyong’s hands immediately found your waist, gripping you tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped against his lips, your body molding into his as heat surged through your veins.
And fuck, he felt good.
Every touch, every movement, every hungry press of his lips sent a spark through you.
His hands slid lower, fingers digging into your hips as you felt him—all of him—against your stomach, his arousal evident through his sweats.
A shiver ran down your spine, your head spinning for a completely different reason now.
"I'm sober now. Is that enough consent for you?" you breathed, words tumbling from your lips between heated kisses.
Jiyong pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.
"As long as you stop pushing me away..." he panted, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.
Your pulse thundered, your fingers gripping onto his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Deal.”
A deep, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest.
Then—he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you back toward the bed.
You could feel the raw need in his grip, in the way his lips never left your skin, in the way his hands held you like you were something precious.
And as he laid you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with hunger and something dangerously close to devotion—
You knew.
This boy would be worth it.
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